Ruined Land
by Melomancer
Summary: [FFT Writing Circle Challenge III] Zigolis Swamp, a land forever stained red by the blood of those slain during the war. But perhaps it's not as hopeless as it first seems....


A pitch black darkness had settled over Zigolis Swamp, choking out the light as night took hold. The gurgling and bubbling of the mire echoed through the night as the poisonous water seeped by slowly, and the stench of decay from the tannins in the waters was everpresent, covering the area like a blanket of death.

Mustadio sighed, folding his arms and edging himself closer to the campfire that was lit earlier by a Fire2 from Malak (which was surprising considering his low faith; most of the others had expected him to spontaneously combust). Zigolis had always freaked him out like nothing else. Always, always, always. Even as a child, back when it wasn't as dead as it was now, it had given him the creeps. He'd rather face off against a lucavi than stay here for long, in fact; afterall, at least he knew he could slay a demon, but you couldn't defeat a lifeless swamp riddled with the undead in the same manner.

Yet here he was, sitting out in the open staring into a veil of darkness that surrounded the camp, standing guard in case a pack of undead decided they'd make a good meal. Funny how that'd happened, despite his vehement protests to the contrary, though it might've had to do with the fact that he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyways, the ambience gnawing at him as he would try in vain to fall asleep. Still, he'd rather be sleeping in a tent than standing as their only guard between them and... whatever was out there, since it'd be someone else the monsters would be snacking on when (not _if_) they pounced.

So, here he was, sitting beside a relatively large fire that stuck out like a sore thumb, waiting for the inevitable undead to come devour his flesh. He shuddered. The only thing that could've made them stick out any more would be if a band of dancers and bards started playing. This place freaked him the hell out.

He heard a twig snap nearby. Instinctively, he turned in a movement as smooth as quicksilver and brought his gun up to eye level, cocking it with his thumb once he had it aimed. He relaxed slightly when he noticed it was just the heaven knight, Rafa, stepping out from her tent. "Oh, it's just you," he sighed, holstering his gun and sitting down.

"You make it sound like I'm not that big of a deal," she smiled, sitting a little ways down the campfire from him.

"Hey now, you know I don't mean that. I call foul!" Mustadio replied energetically, waving his arms defensively in front of him. She giggled.

"You are such a chicken," she joked.

"Hey, now who's being mean, eh?" Mustadio winked. "Besides, last time I checked, that was Beowulf's territory."

"Heh, true."

There was a brief pause. Mustadio coughed quietly, breaking the silence. "So... couldn't sleep, huh?" he asked. She nodded slightly.

"Yes. The spirits of the dead are especially loud tonight."

Mustadio blinked in confusion at this. "How do you mean?"

"You mean you can't hear them?

He shook his head. She 'ah'd and turned back to the fire, and they were both silent, one from confusion, the other from resigned sadness. Mustadio shivered and edged a little closer to the fire, hoping to scare away the chills, then turned back to the heaven knight. "What did you mean by 'spirits of the dead'?" he asked her hesitantly.

"You remember Yuguo?" she asked as a reply. He nodded slowly, recalling the ghosts that haunted the virgin forest. He shuddered at the memory; it was the first time he had seen actual ghosts as opposed to the run-of-the-mill ghoul, and it was _not_ a pleasant sight. She continued, "it's just the same as there. The spirits of those who had fallen here cannot find rest, and thus they are doomed to wander."

Mustadio nodded again at this, a look of understanding replacing his previous one of confusion. "I see, so that explains why this place is so damn creepy," he muttered darkly. His expression lightened slightly when the heaven knight started giggling.

"That's... one way to put it," she said, smiling.

"Yeah. Another way would be to say this place is a God-forsaken hell-hole."

"You do not know how right you are," she muttered shaking her head sadly.

Another silence broke out. Mustadio fidgeted nervously, staring off into the flame as it flickered and snapped as if it clawed at the darkness. He sighed quietly, and pulled his gun from its holster and began polishing it with a small, blue cloth from his pocket.

"I wonder, was the swamp always like this?"

Mustadio looked up at the young woman, smiling sadly. "Yeah, I know. When my father and I used to pass by here to Lionel, there used to be a lot more life here. I wonder what changed it so much?"

"It was the war."

Mustadio jumped with a yelp and turned to the newcomer, Orlandu. "Saint Ajora, don't sneak up on me like that! I could've shot myself, or worse, you."

The elder man chuckled quietly and sat himself down opposite of the engineer. "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you."

"Yeah, sure. Anyway, what were you saying about the war?"

Orlandu nodded, his face darkening. "Yes. Over the course of the war, Zigolis was often a bloody battlefield, most battles ending in large losses in both sides. As the war raged on and more blood was spilled, it became... cursed."

Rafa nodded. "Correct. With all the blood that has been spilled over the years, the swamp became tainted with death, the hatred and despair from the fallen scarring it deeply."

"Geez, so you mean that all those skeletons and ghouls we fought here were dead people? Great, just when I thought this place couldn''t get even more disturbing," Mustadio said darkly. He paused, and turned back to Orlandu. "Anyway, what're you doing up? Hoping to snatch some of the leftover roast chocobo, eh?"

Orlandu shook his head, smirking. "Heh, tempting, but no. I am simply here to relieve you for tonight."

"Finally," Mustadio got up and stretched. "Well, it was nice talking with you two, but I've got a tent waiting for me. 'Night."

"Goodnight." Rafa smiled. Orlandu nodded. Brushing himself off, Mustadio walked over to one of the tents and walked inside, collapsing onto one of the blankets. The man beside him, Ramza, grumbled and turned over.

Mustadio pulled the blanket over himself and closed his eyes. There was another snap, and a sudden howl rang through the night. Nearer to the ground the smell of death was stronger, and there was no light to scare away the darkness suffocating him. He sighed and rolled over, curling up into a small ball.

It was going to be a long night.

------

"Hey, Mustadio, wake up. We've got to go."

Mustadio groaned as a sudden wave of light hit his eyes. He pulled himself from the blanket and set about dressing himself. The revelation that the swamp was cursed from the war had kept him up last night, and the night terrors had just made things all the more worse. He sighed, rubbing at his arms. The lack of sleep made him feel achy, and made him want all the more just to flop back to sleep.

Still, what Rafa and Orlandu had said last night made him think. How could such a place have been tainted so badly? Could the horrors of war have scarred it so badly? He shuddered to think what would happen if the holy stones got into the wrong hands.

Strapping on his belt, Mustadio left the tent and set about helping the others pack up. Still, it did make him feel a little better, though. By helping Ramza stop the war, he'd be helping stop tragedies such as this from happening. And that, in a way, made it all worth it, he mused.

Feeling himself fill with new energy at this thought, Mustadio stretched and turned back to the swamp. If he could protect others from the horrors of war - if he could help Ramza and the others even a little bit - he would be happy.

He packed up his bag, stuffing various potions and clothes inside it. He then slung it over his back and turned to Ramza. "So, fearless leader," he chirped, smiling. "Shall we be off?"

------

A/N: Personally, Zigolis and the other "deadlands" have always been an interest to me. It's interesting just how twisted they've become from the Fifty-Years War, and how they sort of represent the horrors of war.

Anyway, enough of that. I had fun writing this, so I hope it shows. Now, there was one more thing I was going to add...

...Oh! Right, if you enjoyed reading this, be sure to vote for me for the Writing Circle Challenge (check the forum for details). Who knows, it might inspire me to write something else ;).


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